


We Don't Eat

by bluemoon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Children, Established Relationship, Family, M/M, Modern Royalty, News Media, Public Relations, Summer, Winter, fall - Freeform, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 02:56:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemoon/pseuds/bluemoon
Summary: “Daddy, wake up,” Bella says gently as she touches Stiles’s forehead. Her small paw feels cool again his almost sunburned skin. He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes. He can smell the vanilla baby lotion on her on her as the wind blows her hair his way. And he likes to think he can hear her long eyelashes batting against her blushy cheeks and she leans down to inspect his eyes.“Daddy,” she says again, still just above a whisper.“Bella,” he echoes back softly, trying not to startle her, but he can tell from the way the air stops moving he’s failed. She’s always been so light hearted, just like Derek in that way, and he wonders what this world will do to her, because you either harden or you dissolve, and in the worst cases, you manage both.





	We Don't Eat

It’s snowing outside, for the first time this year, 4 days before Christmas. It’s so beautiful, Stiles can’t tear his eyes away from the window. He keeps thinking if he stands still long enough, maybe everything will go back to normal. He’s been thinking that for a couple years now. His hands are crossed, fingers resting on the soft sweater he’s wearing, the one Derek got him as an early Christmas present, because they do that now. It’s so soft, it feels like a cloud. It looks expensive and brand new except for the little stain on it now, from Henry’s breakfast this morning. 

“Daddy,” he says walking into the room, almost like he can hear Stiles in his mind.

“Hey,” Stiles says looking down at him. He looks like a miniature Derek, in his black slacks, brows furrowed like he’s thinking too hard about something that’s not that serious. Stiles pushes his dark locks out of his face as he squats down to look into his eyes.

“You look so handsome,” he says quietly, like it’s a little secret. His son looks at him with surprise and wonder, and Stiles can’t help, but he amused. A wet laugh sputters out of him.

“You too,” he whispers back after a beat, because he’s smart, and the etiquette classes are paying off. Stiles pulls him into a hug, because he doesn’t want to start crying in front of him. 

He hears someone enter the room a moment later and looks up to find Derek holding a sleepy Bella.

“Hey, you ready?” he says pulling back from Henry.

“Yeah,” Derek says, but not looking at him, he’s looking out the window. He doesn’t blame him. The window is so big it’s hard to avoid, and the snow makes the forest behind the “yard” look like something out of a fairytale. 

“I was just thinking how handsome he looks,” Stiles says wiping his eyes and standing up. 

“Stiles,” Derek says gently, looking back at him, and noticing his wet eyes.

“We’re gonna be late, we’re already late,” Stiles says quickly.

“Yeah,” Derek says, but neither of them move. Bella is now snoozing gently on Derek’s tense shoulder. And Stiles is holding Henry’s hand in both of his. He hates these silent standoffs. It feels like there’s a third person in their marriage who keeps starting arguments neither of them can have.

“Ow,” Henry says suddenly slapping a hand over his face, shattering the silence.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Stiles says turning to him as the boy struggles of out of his grip and covers his face with both hands. He’s crying now. That and Derek’s quick movements wake Bella, so he sets her down as he rushes over too. 

“Henry, let us see,” Stiles says as Derek gently removes his hands from his face. There’s a little insect bite under his eyes. It’s harmless, but someone will notice it in all the pictures, Stiles thinks. 

“See, it’s okay,” Derek says when Henry finally opens his teary eyes. 

“Yeah, it’s okay, baby,” Stiles repeats rubbing his back. It makes him wonder why they were ever so scared to have kids, because this, parenting, is one of the few things that has ever been worth the work. And he wonders who they would be, in this world, without it.

Bella is now standing by Derek, and Stiles resists the urge to pull them both closer into a group hug. It’s so cheesy, but there’s nothing cheesy about their life, as much as it looks like that to everyone else. 

Her beautiful black dress is swaying a little as she leans into Derek again. Derek and Stiles got it for her on a visit to Italy, for their wedding anniversary. A small nun that made dresses for dolls, had offered it to them when they had shown her a picture of Bella. 

“We should go,” Derek says this time. They’re both wondering why none of the staff have barged in to remind them, but they probably understand that today isn’t like most days around the palace.

Stiles stands up wordlessly and fixes his sweater before he walks over to Derek, who is whispering something in Bella’s ear now, and making her giggle.

“Babe,” he says gesturing to Derek’s tie and starting to fix it before Derek can put Bella down.

“Okay, I think the team is good to go,” Stiles announces when he’s done as he pats Derek’s chest.

Neither of them look out the window as they leave, as much as they want to. 

*

Stiles can hear the mourning crowds outside even inside the church. He wants to make a joke about why they’re doing it so loudly, the crying, the frowning, the remembering, but that’s not appropriate. And he stopped being fidgety a long time ago, but he has to constantly remind himself not to jiggle his leg for the fifth time in an hour. He’s buzzing with anger more than anything now. Angry at the fact that, Derek insisted on being a pallbearer, and didn’t tell him until they were in the car. Angry that his mother, the Queen, agreed, so now, his children and the rest of the world have to watch him carry his father’s body, and his own sorrow, on his shoulders, for the second time in 15 years. 

He’s pulled out his thoughts by Bella touching his knee. She smiles at him innocently, almost reminding him that he’s scowling a little too loudly in public. 

He touches her cheek, and smiles back as sweetly as he can. It must not impress her because she blinks and then sneezes on his hand. Derek, who is sitting on the other side of her, takes a tissue and gently wipes her flushed nose.

Stiles can’t look at him. He’s still so angry, but he doesn’t move away when Derek reaches over and touches his shoulder in an unusual public display of affection. 

* 

When they get home, there’s still buzzing in his ears from the screaming of the crowds that livened up as they drove by. They got what they came for, in the end. It’s just good the kids didn’t have to see it. He’s glad Talia wasn’t brave enough ask him to do that.

“Here,” Derek says as he hands him a mug. There’s hot chocolate in it. It’s still snowing, and even though it’s dark outside now, Stiles feels like he can still see every single lonely flake falling out of the sky.

“You haven’t made hot chocolate in a while,” Stiles teases when Derek puts an arm around him. He’s looking out the window now, too.

“Switzerland,” Derek says, but he’s not reminding him. They both remember that, it was very similar to tonight. Lot’s of snow, big windows, and both of them, feeling a little like they were alone in the world.

“Who could have imagined,” Stiles says leaning into Derek.

Derek doesn’t say anything, unsurprisingly.

“So, what’s next?” Stiles says not taking his eyes off Derek.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, there are legal implications for what we just did,” Stiles says slowly.

“You mean, burying my father,” Derek says pulling back.

“The King, yes,” Stiles says placing a hand on his arm. Derek pulls away.

“I know who he is... was,” he says looking at his hands.

Stiles takes a deep breath.

“I just need a little time, I think we all do,” Derek says, almost pleading.

“You don’t have time. Lydia told me that the main office can’t keep this hidden forever, or at all, really, so if a newspaper comes knocking, which they inevitably will, we will have to answer honestly,”

“We don’t owe them anything,” Derek says petulantly.

“That’s not really your call now is it?” 

“Is anything my call these days?” Derek says almost inaudibly.

Stiles sighs and rubs Derek’s back. 

“Babe, we have to do something about this,” he says looking at him. He feels so silly taking himself so seriously.

“Now you sound like Lydia,” Derek says rolling his eyes.

“Well you do know that I have a communications degree right? I wasn’t born into my job,” he responds soliciting a laugh from Derek, and getting a quiet one.

“Lucky for you,” Derek says sarcastically, but he puts his arm around Stiles again. 

“This is going to be rough,” he continues.

“I know,”

“You really don’t,” Derek says with finality.

“Whatever that means,” Stiles says taking another sip of his hot chocolate and smiling to himself. It’s stopped snowing now, after what seemed like hours, and the coat of snow covering the ground looks like it’ll be gone before they wake up in the morning, as white as it all is now, it’s soft and weak, and will melt easily with the rising temperatures.

 

*

“So, what does the panel think of all this,” the woman in the bright yellow shirt says gesturing to the man next to her.

“Well, I think it’s obvious, starting with the disappearance of the King, the royal family has been in crisis for a while now, and with Prince Derek marrying someone who, in their private life, was previously a vocal advocate for dissolving that institution, hasn’t helped,” the man with the bright pocket square squeaks.

“Okay, let’s not sound the alarms, both the dukes are incredibly popular with the public, and Prince Stiles is allowed to have private opinions,” another man continues.

“Yeah, but you can’t pretend that the fact that the Queen’s only grandchildren, the future of the crown, have not been seen in public more than a handful of times since they were born. Are we all going to pretend that that doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that both their parents seem to be completely uninterested in the institution they represent,” pocket square continues.

“Watching that is not good for you,” Lydia says as she walks into her office and turns off the T.V.

“What can I say? I like to hear strangers opine about how I’m sabotaging my in-laws,” Stiles says as he adjusts in his seat.

“Hey, that’s trash T.V. No one takes it seriously, especially not pocket square guy,” Lydia says winking at him.

“I knew that was his real name,” Stiles jokes with a tight smile. He knows she’s right, but it’s still hard to take. Holding your tongue for the best part of a decade can wear down almost anyone. Almost.

“I think I can guess why you’re here, with the King James’s funeral, Bella and Henry have moved up a couple spots in line to the throne. We have to get a move on controlling their public profiles,” 

“You mean exposing them,” Stiles says already worked up. He came expecting this conversation, but he knew he was never going to be ready.

“Stiles, it doesn’t have to be like they are doing interviews tomorrow,” Lydia says typing something on her computer.

“I know, but is there real demand for this, like in the public,” Stiles says sounding desperate, even to himself.

“Stiles, the Queen believes that-” Lydia starts.

“Stop, I know exactly what she believes,” Stiles interrupts.

“Do you, though? I feel like every couple months, you come to my office expecting me to tell you that, I don’t know, you can do whatever you want, that you don’t have a responsibility to this country, or the Queen? But it doesn’t do either of us any good for me to lie to you, she’s been warning you about this for awhile, you could have been getting ready, but you didn’t. I understand why, but now I think we should move forward with clear eyes,” Lydia says without blinking. 

Even after she’s done it’s almost like she’s still holding her breath, waiting for Stiles’s first move, and hoping that it won’t be what she expects it to be. For a moment, he thinks he’s never found her more distasteful than she is now. The fact that she would lecture him about wanting to protect his children is cruel, and, Stiles thinks bitterly, might have a lot to do with the fact that she will never have to imagine being asked to risk her own in this way. 

“Okay, how are we going to roll this out,” he says instead, swallowing his pride and anger. He knows it’s misplaced. He gave up the right to it when he married into this family.

*

“Okay, so I understand you were briefed on the topics, you will get 20 minutes, and then we will take a break, and if at any time I make this signal, the interview stops, understood?” Lydia says to the interviewer as Stiles and Derek get mic'd. 

To Stiles, and judging by the way he was looking around every now and then, Derek too, the living room has never looked like a bigger mess. The man fixing the lighting is wearing boots that are definitely tracking mud all over their carpet. It’s midday, but the flood of artificial light makes look like it’s the middle of the evening and there’s something that feels so wrong about that. Stiles is starting to regret the long sleeved dress shirt he had forced both him and Derek to wear. It’s a warm summer day, and the crowd in the room coupled the lights creates a suffocating atmosphere that reminds Stiles too much of the panic attacks he trained himself to contain. That wasn’t taking into account that this was their first interview since their engagement. Having it in their house was supposed to make it all better, but Stiles is starting to realize it’s anything but. It feels like the most invasive thing he has had to do so far, and this is only phase one.

It helps that the interviewer clearly looks nervous too. He’s surprisingly young and Stiles imagines he’s only here because of the optics. The future of the monarchy, and the future of the press. It’s too bad this is all under false pretences. Derek seems to be thinking the same thing because he offers him a private smile when their knees touch on the couch. 

They haven’t said a word to each other since they entered the room, and Stiles suspects they’re both worried they’ll slip into familiar habits and give away some part of themselves, a part that belongs only to their family, away to the strangers squatting in their living room. 

“Ready?” Lydia says pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Stiles says as Derek nods. 

*

“I can’t believe how big Prince Henry is now, those green eyes and Princess Bella, she is so darling,” the older woman says as images of the kids at the zoo flash on the screen.

“Yeah, this, for sure, is clearly the start of a pivot in the way the Dukes approach their roles, as representatives of the monarchy,” pocket square guy says with a smug smile, like he put it all into motion. 

“They’ve shown the country that they’re willing to change with the times, and I think the public is responding well to that,” the host says nodding at them.

“I mean if only they had done this earlier, it makes me wonder if the funeral wasn’t the trigger for all this,” the pocket square says looking at the camera conspiratorially. 

Stiles leaves a hole the size of his phone in Lydia’s T.V that evening.

*

“Daddy, wake up,” Bella says gently as she touches Stiles’s forehead. Her small paw feels cool again his almost sunburned skin. He almost doesn’t want to open his eyes. He can smell the vanilla baby lotion on her on her as the wind blows her hair his way. And he likes to think he can hear her long eyelashes batting against her blushy cheeks and she leans down to inspect his eyes.

“Daddy,” she says again, still just above a whisper.

“Bella,” he echoes back softly, trying not to startle her, but he can tell from the way the air stops moving he’s failed. She’s always been so light hearted, just like Derek in that way, and he wonders what this world will do to her, because you either harden or you dissolve, and in the worst cases, you manage both. 

When he opens his eyes he finds her looking exactly the same and nothing like she did 5 minutes ago. Her soft brown hair has been shaped, wildly, by her running after Derek, against the wind, and her big brown eyes are dilated from looking at the sun too much. Her pale cheeks have been splattered with a pink flush and she seems to have developed two more freckles on her nose. 

“You hungry?” he asks sitting up, and not taking his eyes off her. He can’t.

“No,” she says like it’s obvious.

“Thirsty?” he asks because he doesn’t know what to say.

“No,” she says again crawling into his lap and tucking herself under his chin. He hesitates a moment before he puts an arm around her. She melts into him almost instantly and when he tucks his nose into her hair he has so close his eyes again so as not to be overwhelmed. 

He can hear Derek teaching Henry how to play lacrosse across the field, but the stick is taller than the poor boy, so it’s mostly him watching Derek. He can also hear, in the distance, the scratchy static of the walkie talkie their bodyguard carries around with him. He imagines it all kind of looks a little weird, but he doesn’t care, anymore. It what feels real to him.


End file.
